Europe

Day 1, Thursday 14th January. London, England
It was not a good omen when we awoke late, to a morning of patchy thick fog, covering the southern counties. We said our goodbyes and left London at 9am along roads packed with incoming rush hour traffic. We ran into dense fog several times, delaying our progress to Newhaven so that we only had time to fill up with our last English price fuel before boarding the ferry.
Awaking late, together with the fog saw us arrive eight minutes before the ferries departure, just enough time to drive onto the front-loading ramp as the crew were waiting to close the bow doors behind us. We hurriedly left the car to be secured and went up to the lounge.
Our plan had been to stock up on enough duty free to last at least through Europe, but as we sat in the lounge we realized we had left almost all our money in the Land Rover, and once at sea below decks was off limits.
Adrenalin still pumping we stood drinking coffee, and watching from the rear deck. I don't remember saying much as we looked back over the churning water. I do remember sadness as the harbour; then the port of Newhaven disappeared, and finally the channel mists swallowed the country of our births. At that moment neither of us would have believed that we would not set foot on English soil again for ten years.
I can't say I was excited. I was sad, scared, lonely, and probably most of all confused. We even discussed staying on the ship for the return journey, but after all we had said to everybody we couldn't face returning quite so quickly. By the time we were mid channel we had decided to cut our trip short and do as Cliff Richard had done in his recent popular movie, Summer Holiday; and spend a couple of months sightseeing around Europe. Catch some sun and then go home, it seemed an ideal compromise, we could have an adventure and retain our self-respect.
The future settled: as much duty free as we could, purchased, and out of English territorial waters we tried to enjoy the beginning of our adventure.
As soon as the ferry docked I picked up the pistol, plus a carton of bullets from the purser and wandered around the ship preparing for disembarkation.
If we had actually thought our plans were ill prepared, we were about to find out just how much. For as soon as we disembarked at Dieppe I did what I believed was the right thing, and presented the pistol to the French Authorities. Now I have to admit just how naive we were and point out that up to this time as an Englishman I had always believed that when a person in authority told me something it was correct. That this was wrong was a lesson I was to learn.
Years later, Christmas 2004, I passed through the channel tunnel, and the French customs and immigration people were polite, efficient, and eager to help; but in the local authorities saw no reason to make allowances for visitors who did not speak French. My knowledge of the French language was extremely poor but the expression on the immigration officer's face needed no translation. I tried to explain that the man at the French embassy had said as long as I made no attempt to conceal the weapon there would be no problems. So for several minutes I was snapped at by an officer, in a tirade of language that gave Margaret no opportunity to interpret for me; or fully understood for herself. But a translation wasn't really necessary, the frequent use of 'war' and 'guerrilla' were sufficient for me to understand they viewed my reasons for bringing the pistol into their country in an entirely different way.
Eventually Margaret told me that we had two options, we could arrange to have the pistol sent to the border to be picked up on our exit; how this was to be achieved wasn't made clear and if it had been, we realized immediately that this would be the reaction each and every time we crossed a border. The second option, that we send the pistol back to England was really our only one.
But a gun is not the kind of thing you can dispose of that easily, especially as I believed we would need 'protection' traveling across Asia. For a while the fact that a 'foreigner' was literally ordering an Englishman to put himself and wife in possible danger made me want to refuse, but if we were only going to tour Europe, then go back home; I wouldn't need something for defense anyway.
Margaret was held under open arrest for over two hours while I went back onto the ferry and tried to convince the captain to allow the purser to take the gun back to England. Eventually the purser agreed to return it. I have often wondered just how much trouble the thing caused him as well.
At last greatly delayed, and more than a little subdued we drove out of Dieppe and into the flat and virtually treeless countryside of France. The weather was slightly improved as what had been fog on the other side of the channel had thinned to a mist on this. I was soon more thankful that the fog had dissipated than I would have imagined, as the novelty of driving on the 'wrong' side of the road suddenly became a reality. For those who have not had the experience of driving vehicles built for an opposite sided highway system, it may seem not too much of a problem, and generally it isn't, as long as you are prepared to sit in a line of traffic going straight ahead. The problems rapidly surface when you need to change lanes. Then you have to move the vehicle enough to see if the road is clear. This meant putting the entire right side of the car up to, or over the dividing line. The fact that I would have to do this was not a surprise, and considering the problem before we left I had fixed a wing mirror facing forward, so that I could get an indication of approaching traffic. The idea worked, at least to a point, but in those first few days Margaret; sat in the passenger seat, found herself facing cars and trucks on a number of occasions, and she wasn't always too pleased.
In time my reactions improved, and I learned to drive blind and trust Margaret's judgment when to move, which had its own problem in that she didn't have a driving license, or the road experience necessary to get one.
Now the journey had properly started our first job was to fill our water tanks. This simple act brought a lot of amusement to the owners of a small café. Then we put a few killometres behind us and found a lay by, where we could camp. Margaret made our first meal since setting out, while I unpacked a lot of stuff from inside up onto the roof rack. Rather fed up and cold we crawled dejectedly into the back for our first night sleeping on the road; thinking that this was not a good way to start our, or any adventure…….

Day 2, Friday 15th January, France
Other than a two-week honeymoon on the Mediterranean island of Ibiza neither Margaret nor I had ever been out of England (excluding the Channel Islands, which to all practical purposes are England) and so our first taste of France was not as I had imagined.
On our holiday in Spain, English was spoken by almost everyone we met; and even the Spanish shop assistants understood enough to give you whatever you needed, but that wasn't the case in rural France. Here, before the days of mass tourism we were literally aliens and it was up to us to fit into the lives of strangers. It was a day where we felt isolated and alone, probably due more to us facing the reality of what we had embarked on, than anything else.
We awoke and decided to 'get on the road' (a term we were to use a lot) straightaway. The day was difficult, though sometimes amusing as tried to buy coca-cola or trying to change money in a bank where for some reason that I still haven't worked out, they assumed we were trying to pay our mortgage.
In England I had promised my father that I would visit his fathers grave in the Bauvais war cemetery. It was not particularly successful, and I was never sure we had seen his actual grave, but I took photos and later told my father we had.
We also visited our first French bar, and experienced our first communal toilet. Trying to lean as close to the urinal as I could while French women walked back and forth behind me is something I still smile about.
That afternoon we drove into Paris. It was a little terrifying. There was the usual mass of traffic, as there had been in London, but now I was on the wrong side of the road and couldn't read the road signs. I have no idea where we went, other than we passed the Louvre and we saw the Eiffel Tower down a side street, at quite a distance.
Somehow we got out of Paris as the light began to fade, presenting me with the problem that my headlights pointed into the traffic other than onto the kerb; add to that the fact that my headlights were clear glass white, while the French drivers were yellow. We copped a lot of flashing lights and undecipherable abuse.
We stopped in the dark at the first opportunity and ate a dinner that consisted of sandwiches brought from London, while having a discussion on the high cost of French groceries. But on the positive side Margaret's French was getting better

Day 3 Saturday 16th January, Paris, France
We awoke around dawn to the noise of trucks revving, and thundering past, finding that in the dark we had parked outside the gateway of the Paris refuse tip.
Not only was our choice of campsite poor, my sense of direction was worse, as we found we were on the wrong side of the city. We tried the cross again, and with the questionable help of the French police made our way through, and around narrow back streets to eventually put Paris behind us.
On the road to the East of the city the snow was quite thick and that evening we parked on the edge of a forest. Like children we played snowballs and smoked our last English bought cigarettes. Being in foreign places didn't seem so bad after all.

Day 4, Sunday 17th January, France
A sunny and crisp drive through the snow to Phalsbourg. At the edge of the village is one of the first tanks to arrive during the liberation, and also the first to be destroyed. Mounted on a plinth, it's marked as the 'Bourg-la-reine'. Looking around the small township the plaque was a somber warning. I had been born at the very end of World War two, and while in those post conflict years I had grown up knowing that the occasional ruined buildings were destroyed by bombs; such a time seemed remote, and hardly real. Even in my youth, and with the threat of nuclear annihilation, war still seemed something that happened somewhere else; the thing was that I now was, somewhere else.
We drove on stopping for brunch of porridge, toast and coffee by the side of the road, and into Strasburg, well aware that we were fast running out of petrol. But none of the garages we came upon would accept English currency.
We walked around the town square trying to find somewhere where we could change traveler's cheques, but it was Sunday and unsurprisingly we couldn't find anywhere open.
We had to continue onto the border at Kehl, and for some reason not noted in the diary we changed travelers cheques into Franks on the French side only to change these into Marks over the German border. Once we had, Margaret found she had left her handbag in France and we had to exit and re-enter a second time. At least we now had cash and filled the petrol tanks before driving into the mountains.
Slightly disappointed with France, maybe we expected something different from England but it wasn't really.
At last we felt we were on an adventure. The North of France was much like England, but driving higher into the snow of Germany was totally new.
We arrived at a little village called Kniebis as the light failed. It was very picturesque: deep in snow with a large ski jump. We parked up and had dinner of tinned stewed steak and dumplings, then walked to our first Bier keller, for our first taste of German beer. The place was decorated in character, and a group of German boys pulled the tables together and while Heidi served, they sang songs in true Teutonic style, we felt like extras in a movie. Inebriated but quite happy we drifted off to sleep, though I had a slight stomachache, and Margaret sore eyes; even so things were beginning to look up.

Day 5, Monday 18th January, Germany
Woke by the alarm at 7am to see icicles hanging off the roof inside the Land Rover, so we went back to sleep. Woke again at 9am.
Short of petrol again on autobahn. Saw road signs for Dachau concentration camp that made Margaret uneasy so sped on to Munich. Found bank open and changed more money. Got lost in Munich and ended up being ripped off in a café, paying over the odds for two cups of coffee. Made corned beef sandwiches to last the day, thinking it too cold to get outside and cook.
Pretty countryside but ran into fog on leaving autobahn. Stopped the night in a lay by with toilets and a café. Had soup and rice pudding for supper and decided as it's too cold, so we will cut the tour of Europe short and head straight for Istanbul.

Day 6, Tuesday 19th January, German Austrian border
Still very cold, but we are getting used to frozen water in the tanks by now. Washed cups and plates, and ourselves in the basins at the toilet, thinking we had not had a good body wash since leaving London.
My thoughts on Germany were mixed. Munich was in many was as in France, like England, but different, and the Germans seemed a little stand offish, but out of the larger urban areas the people were friendly and the countryside was bordering on fairytale, though maybe in high summer we would have had a different impression.
Bought some cigars and bread before crossing into Austria. Petrol is cheaper in Austria, and there are mountains all around. Posted letters home and we drove until dark before finding a lay by near Loben; parked up close to a shrine.
Found Automobile Association maps that had gone missing at the start of the journey. This is our third night to bed with our clothes on.

Day 7, Wednesday 20th January. Austrian Yugoslav border
It the morning daylight we found out that it wasn't a shrine, instead another sign for another public toilet. Stopped later in the day at a garage, and found the toilets were filthy, thinking it strange how the unattended ones were better.
Crossed the border, and the Iron curtain into Yugoslavia, passing coach that was obviously from the direction we were heading. We were to discover later that there was actually a bus that ran the route taking Australians to Europe, and back
While Yugoslavia was a communist state; it was a relatively open one. In fact travel agents in England were offering organized holidays on the Dalmation coast: and before we had left we had even considered taking such a tour. So while there was some trepidation penetrating what was part of the USSR, we crossed the border more in curiosity, then in fear of the KGB.
Perception was different to reality as we soon found out by being told we had to obtain petrol vouchers before we could buy fuel. While in England not everyone had a car, and Margaret's family for one did not. Everyone had the choice or opportunity to buy one. In Yugoslavia few had cars, and accordingly most roads were very poor. A marked difference after the autobahns we had been traveling on.
While there were military vehicles everywhere there was little domestic traffic, other than horse and cart, so people continually stopped and stared at us as we drove by. With the lack of domestic vehicles there was little need for no pull over areas on Yugoslav roads, forcing us to stop that evening besides a truck stop. All garages are designated INA, or just say petrol. We filled the water tanks and went to bed surrounded by lorries of all types.

Day 8, Thursday 21st January, Yugoslavia
The roads are monotonous, and vary from just reasonable to very bad. Stopped and took a hitchhiking Dutch boy and girls, who we suspect were smoking pot in the back, to a garage.
On road to Belograd we were passed by a truck shedding wooden sticks for several miles, one ended up through the radiator grill of another truck. We were flagged down again by two more cars. The only common language was French. I wanted to keep going and didn't want to tow the broken down vehicle, but ended up doing it simply because we couldn't get the message through that we wouldnt. A girl got in to direct us to a nearby village; Ruma, where we left the broken down car at a garage, and were invited to the home of the driver for a meal.
Before dinner we drove the girl to her home, a bed-sit, where she offered us small glasses of Vodka 'rechia', before making us coffee in small china cups.
When we drank politely she laughed, pointed and slurped loudly. It's expected that you have to slurp the coffee or you get a mouthful of grounds; being used to instant coffee back at home, this wasn't the first experience of a long learning curve. Next we found that once finished you put the cup upside down on the saucer to indicate you have had enough, apparently this is even more important when drinking Vodka.
Went to the Yugoslav mans house, and parked the Land Rover in a drive beside the cottage. He asked us to remove our shoes at the door: as we found is the custom almost everywhere. Though he gave us a pair of slippers each, at other times we went in socks.
Took our places at a table and were given large glasses of a steaming liquid while everyone else had small ones. The Yugoslavs 'brod' (brother) told me it was schnapps. I was offered a cigarette and when I refused and showed him my pipe he ripped open the cigarette and put it into my pipe. Everybody thought our cigarettes were very big. The Yugoslav girl gave us a lace doily, which she had made herself.
I went to the toilet later with Donna the dog chasing me. Found it to be a concrete slab with a small hole in the middle; not something I was used to in England, but what we found was the norm in the east. Water was taken from a well nearby.
Dinner started with soup, slurped well by everyone, including us. Then liver, chips and paprika in tureens, but no fresh plate everyone uses the same soup bowl. Large piles of bread and two machetes placed on table to be shared with beer to finish, and it turned out to be a very nice meal. A young girl who could speak English a little came with her parents to talk to us
Towards the end of the evening the drink took its toll and I went to bed on a lounge in the front room, passing out almost straight away. Margaret watched 'Dragnet' on the television with the family. It was in English with Yugoslav sub titles, but the family thought American was completely different to English, and consequently thought Margaret well educated as she could understand American as a separate language. She didn't sleep too well as it was quite noisy.

Day 9. Thursday 22nd January. Yugoslavia
Awoke to cock crowing; we both have hangovers. Washed on the verandah in a big bowl with the young girl of the house pouring water for us while breakfast was being made. Sat down to Vodka and coffee for a starter, then potatoes in a tomato and onion sauce, with paprika and bread. Followed by lumps of bacon with eggs. Finished with large cups of hot milk with sugar. We gave some brochures to the young girl and said goodbye. They asked us to stop for a holiday but we said no and gave them a tin of coffee. Everybody kissed everybody and we left with the husband of the girl to direct us to the road to Belgrade, where we headed for Nis.
It has started to get noticeably warmer, and the roads were much better. We stopped just outside Nis after buying some very sweet sausage rolls and are parked up in what we think is the local lovers lane.

Day 10, Friday 23rd January, Yugoslav, Bulgarian border
Our first car problem, a slow puncture on the rear near side. We had noticed this particular wheel had been overheating (I was to find out later in Sydney that the brakes had been binding, this also probably contributed to a need to later replace the oil seal)
Met three girls at the border from the USA who were driving to Istanbul. We were given a twenty-four hour visa, and had to exit the country before it expired; not a entirely warm welcome, but the constant traveling is starting to make us weary, and the sooner we can get somewhere warm to laze around the better: but maybe it is also the fact that we are now really inside the socialist block, Bulgaria is a full communist state.
We started finding out about time zones today as after parking just outside Polividov and then going into Sophia we found our time 45 minutes slow.
Spent one hour in Sophia, and while that is a very short time to make any sort of judgement we found it a dismal place. Classic old buildings: but showing none of the more fanciful architecture of Western Europe. These were purposeful and invariably a shade of Gray. As were the people enveloped in Grays, Browns and Black, unlike the pop culture 'Sergeant Pepper's' generation that was sweeping England. They seemed suspicious of us, less friendly, and even more reluctant to strike up a conversation than even the French. We did chat to one man though; who told us quite proudly that he owned a caravan.
The roads in Bulgaria are better than in Yugoslavia except in the smaller towns and villages, where there are always cobbled.

Day 11 Saturday 24th January Bulgarian Turkey border
Set off in the snow, and then into the sun to arrive at the Turkish frontier. This is the first time we have seen the sun on the journey, and it's the warmest day. Customs were fascinated by my passport, declaring me as a 'director'. (The passport authorities in England never queried the description) Many people at the border were being thoughroughly searched. On a tower overlooking us was a soldier with a machine gun, not something you saw in England of the time; in fact the British police did not carry any firearms at all.
The roads are very good; bitumen surfaced, straight and with little traffic: mostly buses, though the drivers seem to be quite mad.
Towns are getting more oriental with mosques and are full of people.
We drove on into the dark and towards Istanbul, having trouble with the opposing traffics headlights. The Londra camp where we had planed to stay was closed so we stopped at the BP Mocamp. Very different to previous places where we have stopped, as there are all the facilities we could want. The other campers don't seem to be too friendly but the locals are. Our first night under canvas in the tent, and at last we can sit up in bed.